


By the Handle of Our Pans

by Downward Stroke (casual_distance)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Biphobia, Check Please Big Bang 2016, Closeted Character, Cooking, Cooking Show, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Reconciliation, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casual_distance/pseuds/Downward%20Stroke
Summary: In order to help support and spread the word about his new charity, Jack agrees to go on a cooking contest show that partners professional chefs with amateurs.  Jack isn’t expecting Eric to be one of the chefs.  Even though they broke up five years ago, Jack still misses him. Being in the kitchen with him again makes Jack remember how their relationship fell apart— but it also makes him remember how good things were and how good they were together.  
When they’re paired together for the finale, they cook together like they’ve never been apart.  It makes Jack wonder if they can have a second chance.  He just hopes Eric wants one too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks firstly to my artist [justaphage](https://justaphage.tumblr.com/) who not only illustrated one of my favorite scenes, but also created a lovely icon/logo for the cooking show! You can [see the artwork here](https://justaphage.tumblr.com/post/152585846868/art-work-for-by-the-handle-of-our-pans-by) and also within the fic. :)
> 
> A HUGE thanks to [onethousandhurrahs](http://onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com) for some fantastic help editing this into something solid and being wonderful to work with!
> 
> **Content Warning Notes:** In regard to the homophobia/biphobia tags, there are no major confrontational scenes (and no explicit slurs, only references to them), but there are scenes where the people Jack is interacting with are clearly willing to escalate until Jack backs down. It’s a theme of Jack’s experience so he discusses it throughout the fic. Please read safely.
> 
> The original characters in this fic are vaguely inspired by real life people in their respective careers. I don’t know anything about these people, obviously, so I fictionalized their names and personalities, but their inspirations are in the end notes.
> 
> The meals come from two sources— Blue Apron and Chopped episodes (because I am not a cook by anyone’s definition) and are also listed in the end notes.

 

Jack's fingers go numb as he stares down at the folder in his hands. He should have read this weeks ago, but they'd had three back-to-back games and then Eddison had fucked up and fucked a fan on their last away game. His wife had found out and their relationship— already in trouble— had worsened, was probably over. Jack and the other guys had tried to help, and Jack's attention had been taken with trying to be supportive without condoning Eddison's actions.

The folder— _this_ folder— had been put aside. Had been left for a later date, a later time.

Jennifer had shoved it in his hands as they'd climbed in the car to go to the studio.

"You need to read this, Jack," she’d chided. So he had.

He wishes he'd done it sooner.

"Jack?"

Jennifer's voice breaks through his thoughts and he looks up to find her frowning at him.

"Is something wrong?"

Jack looks down at the folder. "Um..."

She leans over the console between them and wraps her fingers around his wrist. "Is there a problem?" she asks again. "You said you had no problem with this."

"No—" He can't force the words out. 

"It's fine if you're not okay, Jack, but—" She glances toward the front of the car.

_But_ we're almost there.

_But_ you might not have a choice.

_But_ —

"No." Jack clears his throat when his voice breaks. "No, I am fine with it. Just..." He sighs. He's been out for three years now, but this— this is still hard. He forces his shoulders to relax and then forces himself to say, "One of the chefs is my ex-boyfriend."

Jennifer is quiet for a long time. He doesn't look at her.

"Okay," she says. "Jack. I'm going to ask you some questions because I need to get an idea of what you mean."

Jack dips his head in a brief nod.

"Was it serious?"

Jack closes his eyes. Serious. Bitty had been nothing but serious. "Yes."

"How did it end?" When Jack shoots her a look, she amends, "Did it end badly is what I mean."

Jack draws in a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "It was mutual, but it wasn't— neither of us really wanted it."

"Jack..."

"I wasn't out. It was before." Before he’d been traded again, before he’d found another team that had been willing to support him, before they _had_ supported him when he’d come out.

Jack closes the folder and slides it across the seat to her.

Jennifer doesn't say anything, just picks it up and flicks it open to the fact sheet, where a picture of all the contestant judges stretches across the page. "Which one is he?"

"Eric Bittle."

"Okay. Are you— do you still want to do this?"

"Yeah." Jack pauses. "Yeah, I just— I don't think I can cook with him." Too many mornings in a kitchen turned gold with the rising sun, watching Bitty dance, sticking his tongue out at Jack when Jack had chirped him. Too many holidays in a kitchen full of their friends, trying to sneak gentle touches, hungry kisses. Too many nights in a kitchen lit only by the stove light, feeding each other bites of pie with their fingers, bodies still buzzing with the after-effects of each other's touch.

"I'd rather not cook with him," Jack says again.

"Okay," Jennifer acknowledges and that's all she says until they arrive.

 

* * *

 

Jack and Jennifer are greeted by a young woman wearing a “By the Handle of Our Pans” shirt knotted over one hip. She and Jennifer exchange words and then Jennifer’s touching Jack’s arm gently.

“Drew is going to take you up to the studio, Jack. I’m going to head back to the office. Is that okay?”

Jack nods.

“I’ll pick you up later. Call me if you need anything,” she says. She squeezes his arm and then she’s gone. 

Drew leads Jack to an elevator that they take up to the third floor. She guides him to a room marked “Pan Contestants”. Small couches line the walls and a table has been set with water, sodas, and snacks. Only one of the other hockey players is there— a young guy who's considered an up-and-comer. He's good looking— tanned skin with black hair that he keeps cut short and styled. He's got scruff lining his jaw and framing his mouth. He grins widely when he sees Jack, jumping to his feet and offering his hand.

"Hey," he greets. "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Adrián."

Jack shakes his hand. "Adrián Cruz, right? Jack Zimmermann. We've played against each other a couple times, but never actually talked."

Adrián laughs. He runs a hand over his hair, catching at the back of his neck nervously. Jack is surprised; in press, Adrián's always seemed calm, like he'd enjoyed being in the spotlight. It had always left Jack vaguely jealous.

"Man, I'm nervous," he says, dropping back onto a couch while Jack wanders over to grab a bottle of water. He nods approvingly at the protein bars lined up.

"Because of the contest?" Jack asks as he joins Adrián.

Adrián shakes his head. "I've never cooked before. Kinda freaks me out that I'll be at the mercy of some master chef." 

Jack grins. "From experience, all you gotta do is follow directions."

"Experience?" Adrián raises an eyebrow at him.

Jack shrugs, looks away as he says, "I used to cook with my ex a lot."

Adrián says something in Spanish that Jack doesn't understand. He cuts a look back at him, frowning, and then tells him so in French. Adrián stares at him for a moment, then breaks into laughter, throwing his head back and slapping Jack's arm.

They chat for a little while until the door opens and Olivier Cote enters the room. He's deep in conversation with a man Jack recognizes from his press conferences, someone on the Maple Leafs’ PR team. Olivier offers them a nod in greeting, but he doesn’t stop his conversation, turning his back to them and lowering his voice. Jack watches for a minute before he turns to Adrián and asks about his charity. 

They chat until a young woman with black hair cropped short and tanned skin hip checks the door to the kitchen open and then kicks a stopper in place.

"Alright, gentlemen," she calls. She cocks a hip and grins at them. She has a clipboard pressed to her side and a headset around her neck. "Let's go meet your chefs!"

 

* * *

 

The chefs huddle together by the cooking stations, laughing over some joke that Jack hadn’t heard. The first person Jack sees is Bittle, facing the door they’ve come through, his face bright with laughter. He's lost the softness of youth, and his hair is cut short, the top just a little longer than the sides, but he's still beautiful. He still shines, his amusement plain in the wide stretch of his mouth and the way the skin around his eyes crinkles. Jack's breath catches in his throat at the sight of him, his loss still an ache in Jack’s chest even this far past.

Adrián bumps his shoulder as he passes and it jerks Jack into movement. He follows Adrián and Olivier to where they’ve been directed to stand at the end of the cooking stations. The young woman turns to face them, clapping her hands for everyone’s attention. The chefs stop talking, moving forward to line themselves up across from the athletes. Jack barely notices the other two chefs, a Black woman dressed neatly in slacks with a yellow top and a white man with bright red hair. He watches Bittle and he sees the moment Bittle catches sight of him, his mouth dropping open, his body freezing just long enough to be noticeable.

"My name is Amber," their guide tells the three of them. "I'll be directing you on what to expect and where to go. These—" She gestures to the chefs. Behind her, Bittle stares at Jack with wide eyes. "—are your chefs. We have Ginella Simms, Mark Carey, and Eric Bittle." She turns to the chefs. "Chefs, your hockey players are Adrián Cruz, Jack Zimmermann, and Olivier Cote. You guys will have twenty minutes to get to know each other and decide who will be cooking with who."

She steps aside and the chefs move forward, smiles plastered on their faces. They've obviously been directed to lead, for which Jack is grateful. Bittle heads straight for him. He stops short and they stare at each other for a moment before Jack offers his hand.

"Jack Zimmermann!" Bittle exclaims, a smile lighting up his face. "I _know_ your mother raised you better than that!" Bittle opens his arms and Jack obediently steps forward to dip down and hug him back.

"Hey, Bittle," Jack greets. 

Bittle laughs and pushes him away. He wags a finger in Jack's face. "Eric, Jack. I haven't been Bittle in a very long time."

"You two know each other?" Mark says from where he watches with raised eyebrows. Behind him Ginella, Adrián, and Olivier are watching with amusement.

"Jack and I went to college together," Bittle— Eric answers, grinning up at Jack.

"He played hockey," Jack says, more to Adrián and Olivier than the chefs. Adrián perks up and comes over to stand next to Eric. Olivier follows more easily, taking his time.

"Oh, yeah? What position?"

"Forward," Eric answers.

"He played on my line. Was really good," Jack adds. Eric rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face turns pleased.

Olivier whistles. "Man, if Zimmermann says you were good—"

Eric groans and waves a dismissive hand. "Jack has to say I'm good."

Adrián glances between them. "I guess you two wanna cook together, huh?"

"No," Jack and Eric answer together. Everyone blinks at them, and Jack feels his face flush with embarrassment. 

Eric's face is bright red, but he clears his throat and explains for both of them. "Jack and I used to cook together. It wouldn't be fair."

Adrián's eyebrows go up and he looks over at Jack. When Jack doesn't meet his gaze, he turns to Eric. "I wouldn't mind cooking with you then.”

"I'll cook with Jack," Mark says, and Jack turns to look at him. He’s heavy set— solid looking but soft in the way that gives the impression this is someone who works hard and uses muscle, but doesn’t work out. His beard is even redder than his hair and he has it trimmed neatly under his chin. His smile is friendly enough, but Jack can see the sharpness in his gaze. He’s got an accent so similar to Eric’s that Jack wonders if he’s from Georgia as well.

"Guess we're the odd men out," Ginella says to Olivier, but she’s smiling, her expression open. Unlike Mark, she’s slender. Her short sleeves show off the corded muscles of her arms. Her hair is a dizzying array of curls, held back by a broad headband. Jack doesn’t recognize her accent. Olivier smiles at her and lets her lead him to their work station.

Eric and Adrián head to theirs while Mark leads Jack to the last station. Jack ignores the way Adrián keeps glancing over at him, and the way Eric does the same thing.

 

* * *

 

### Five Years Ago

Jack opens the door of his apartment to the smell of burnt sugar. He stands in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob, his bag weighing heavily on his shoulder, and stares blankly toward the kitchen. His stomach turns and bile burns the back of his throat. He sighs and shuffles the rest of the way inside. He sets his bag down beside the door and toes off his shoes, taking the time to straighten them up. He stares at them for a moment before he pulls his jacket off. One of the sleeves turns inside out so he fusses with it, fingers digging around inside the folded-up sleeve. He pulls the sleeve free and hangs the jacket up directly above his shoes. He stands still and listens. 

The apartment is silent, but Jack knows where he’ll find Bitty.

In the kitchen, the first thing he sees is the pie. It rests on the counter next to the oven, the crust black and ragged. Filling has bubbled up out of it and shines where the char has cracked. Apple. Jack stands in front of it, hands on the counter. He closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. He turns and sinks to the floor. He leans up against the cabinet door. 

Next to him Bitty sniffs wetly and rests his head against Jack's shoulder. Jack feels him trembling and turns to press his mouth to the top of Bitty's head.

"You know I love you, right?" Jack breaks the silence. His voice wavers.

Bitty sobs once, the sound aborted, broken. He draws in a shuddering breath, and then another. He nods. "I love you, too, Jack. Of course I do."

Jack waits. He knows what's coming. They’ve been talking around this discussion for months now. He can’t bring himself to prompt it, though. He isn't going to make it get here any faster than he can help. He hates the knowledge that he has the power to keep it from happening completely; he just… can’t.

Bitty pulls away and Jack squeezes his eyes shut. 

"I don't— This isn't—" Bitty stops himself and draws in a deep breath. Holds it. Exhales without sobbing. "I don't want to make you do something you aren't ready for, Jack. But."

Jack looks over to find Bitty watching him. His face is red, blotched with color. His eyes are swollen, hair in disarray. He's been crying for a while. Crying so hard Jack knows without being told that his chest and ribs hurt. Jack reaches for him. Bitty lets Jack wrap his arms around his shoulders. He curls into Jack's side and presses his face against Jack's body. He shudders in Jack's arms.

"I want to get married. I want to have kids." Bitty's voice is muffled. "I want to do that with you, Jack. And this isn't me telling you— telling you that you have to— it's not an ultimatum. But I can't do this forever. I can't—" 

Bitty's voice breaks and then he’s crying again, desperate and hard, body jerking with each sob out. Jack holds him because he can't do anything else. He wants to say he can come out, that he will talk to Tony tomorrow, but he doesn't know if he can. He's spent the last few years telling himself that he'll do it. He walks down the hallway to Tony's office and then stops. He opens his mouth to say something to Chief or Chubs or anyone of the guys who asks about his girlfriend and he stops. 

He thinks about the jokes in the locker room. He thinks about the curled lips and the elbows that get thrown and the sneered words, low and hateful. He thinks about the way it’s been nearly five years playing professionally, and he still doesn’t have a Stanley Cup ring. He still doesn’t have anything to prove he’s better than everyone thinks he is.

 

He thinks about coming out and then he thinks about everything else and the words get stuck. He hates it. He hates himself. 

He wants to say it. But. He can't.

 

* * *

 

### Present

Once everyone's paired off and at their stations, Amber calls for attention. She jots a few notes on her clipboard and then tucks it under her arm.

"Now that you are paired off I'm going to explain how this works. If you have any questions, please save them to the end.

"Today’s contest type is going to be what we call ‘I Yam What I Yam’. Our guest judges have written down their favorite meals onto slips of paper. The athletes will draw the meal they are to cook randomly from our mixing bowl here and read off the name of the meal. You and your chef will have to make that meal, but the chef can only provide direction and do basic prep work. You athletes are expected to do the bulk of the preparation. This is a test for how well you listen and a test for how well your chefs can give direction.

"You will make enough to feed all three judges and the host, plate the meals, and then have them scored and judged. Part of your scoring is how well you two work together in the kitchen. The other criteria are presentation and taste. The pair with the most points will win that meal. After all three meals, your points will be tallied and the pair with the most points will be our grand prize winner.

"Now, we normally give away physical rewards, but for our celebrity matches, we donate money to your charities. Your agents have already sent us your preferred charities. For each meal you win, we will donate $500 to your charity. If you win the grand prize, we will donate $3,000 on top of whatever you've won per meal. The grand prize winner will also get to go on to our final challenge and be pitted against people from other sports.

"Any questions?"

No one raises their hands. Amber nods, makes a few more marks on her clipboard, and then tucks it under her arm again.

"Alright, guys. Your host and the guest judges should be here momentarily, then we'll begin. If you need anything, I will be nearby."

 

* * *

 

The meal Jack draws doesn't look complicated. It's seared chicken served with a potato, apple, and kale mixture. He brings the card back to his table where Mark takes it from him. He reads the recipe before glancing up at Jack.

"This should be easy enough. Do you have any questions on how to prepare anything?"

"No. I might need help with the timing, but I cook chicken regularly."

Mark nods. He sets the card on the desk between them. "I can help with prep, which means washing and cutting basically. I think you should prep the potatoes. They will need to cook first since they'll take longer to soften. Once you get them going, you can work on the chicken. If you’re used to prepping chicken, then I should have the apples, onion, and kale ready for you when you need them."

"Chefs, you have five minutes until we start!" Amber calls, breaking into their conversation.

"I'll grab the produce if you'll grab the rest," Mark tells him. 

Jack nods. 

They move into place, side-by-side, to listen as the host and the judges chat, explaining rules to an audience that isn’t really there. The host gives the signal, releasing them to start cooking. Three professional chefs and three professional hockey players all take off for the pantry.

Jack finds the almonds first, then ducks into the fridge to find the chicken, butter, and mustard. He's bent over, looking at the package labels to find the chicken he needs, when someone bumps into him.

"Oh! Sorry, I—"

Jack looks up into Eric's face. Eric flushes red and offers an embarrassed shrug. Jack smiles. He checks the label on his chicken, then straightens up.

"And here I'd thought you'd gotten out of contact sports," he chirps.

Eric blinks at him, then throws his head back and laughs. He shakes his head. "You're just as terrible as always. Get out of here, Mr. Zimmermann."

Jack grins. He scoots back to let Eric into the fridge, barely resisting the urge to hip check him. It was something they'd done once, long ago, but it's not something they do now. As he makes his way back to his station, Jack draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly.

"You okay?" Mark asks as he comes up alongside Jack, dropping a bundle of greenery, a couple of potatoes, an onion, and an apple on the workstation.

"Yeah." Jack doesn't elaborate. Mark stares at him for a moment. He turns away, but Jack can see the way his eyes dart to where Eric is standing, two stations down, head tipped back as he gives instructions to Adrián, who looms above him. Jack pretends he doesn't see, just bends over his cutting board and begins to work on chopping the potatoes as directed.

 

* * *

 

Mark calls out directs to Jack, prompting him on temperature, how long to leave the potatoes and the chicken. They don't work as well together as he and Eric had once upon a time. They bump into each other. Jack loses half the apple to the floor, and Mark has to run and grab a replacement, putting them behind. 

Jack doesn't understand Mark through his accent, his words slurring together faster than Jack can follow, a stark difference from Bittle's slow drawl. Every time Jack asks him to repeat himself, Mark's scowl deepens. 

Jack nearly burns the chicken. As it is, they have to plate it overcooked, the edges of the skin darker than Mark would like; they have no time for Jack to cook more.

Jack follows Mark's plating instructions, setting out three pale violet plates— to match the purple potatoes, Mark tells him— and spooning up the potato, apple, and kale mixture. He sets the chicken on top and then ladles the pan sauce Mark had instructed Jack to make at the end over chicken and around the edges of the plate. Mark considers the plates for a moment before he tells Jack to spoon more sauce over the chicken. 

Jack frowns; the plates looks messy to him, but Mark makes an approving noise in the back of his throat. He wipes down the edges of each plate to catch stray splatters, careful to leave the streaks of sauce Jack had made. He's halfway through the last plate when time is called. Mark steps back and puts up his hands. Jack follows suit.

Jack is surprised when they are sent back to the waiting area.

"The judges eat first, while the food is fresh," Amber tells them as she closes the door to the room. "Then we'll record you telling the judges about your dish and the judges' critique at the same time."

"Is that common?" he asks Mark, who nods.

"We get better results that way. The food sitting can change the flavors."

Jack sits on the couch, accepting a bottle of water from a young man who wanders the room handing them out, a lanyard around his neck, looking nervous and shy. Jack tracks his movement through the room idly and gets to watch Eric smile at him, leaning forward to ask his name and engage him in conversation. The boy's shoulders relax and Eric pats his arm before sending him on. Eric looks over and catches Jack watching him. His cheeks flush red and he ducks his head slightly before offering Jack a small smile.

Jack smiles back, but a strange sort of melancholy settles in his chest. He turns his attention to the water in his hands, twisting it around to read the label. He and Mark don't talk, just sit in silence until Mark gets up to join Eric and Ginella, who have split off from Adrián and Olivier. Olivier is on the phone, ignoring them again. Adrián comes over to sit with Jack.

"How'd it go?" Jack asks.

Adrián shrugs. "Okay. Eric's nice. He seems good at teaching."

Jack smiles. "Yeah. He taught me how to make pies— well a pie, I guess— back in college for a class. And I know he taught some of the other guys how to cook sometimes." Jack raises one shoulder in a shrug. "You know. To impress someone."

Adrián laughs at that, then asks, "So you lived together?"

For one bizarre moment, Jack thinks he means after college, thinks he's talking about those few precious years they'd lived together when Jack was still with the Falconers, but then Adrián adds, a wistful tone to his voice, "He said you guys were basically a frat."

Jack barks a laugh at that. The chefs glance over, Eric's eyes lingering the longest. Olivier doesn't bother.

"Yeah," Jack allows. He grins at the memories. "We totally were. Run down house, beer fridge, kegsters."

"Kegsters?"

"Parties. With lots of kegs."

Adrián grins. "Sounds fun."

Jack feels his smile fade and tries to keep it in place. "Yeah. Best years of my life." 

His eyes wander to where Eric is standing across the room. He fusses with his apron strings, a smile on his face. Mark says something that has Eric laughing and pushing at him. Mark leans in close and says something low. Eric rolls his eyes; Ginella shakes her head.

Jack's grateful when Amber jerks open the door to call them back into judging. He tries to focus, but he can't help noticing the way Mark's hand lingers at the small of Eric's back, or the way he leans into Eric’s space again, speaking softly before they separate.

At their station, Mark clasps him on the shoulder. "Ready?" he asks.

Jack's not, but he's used to this. He swallows his nerves and uses his press voice and gets through the questions. Judging is about what he expected: the chicken was dry, the edges burnt, but otherwise it tasted good.

Olivier fares worse, his meal undercooked and over-seasoned. The flavors of Adrián’s meal are off, but it’s still good. Most of the ingredients were prepared properly. It’s no surprise when Adrián wins, though the judges say it was close between him and Jack.

Adrián is prompted to talk about his charity and why he chose it. Adrián tells the judges about Kids in Sports LA and how they help kids from low income families be involved in team sports. He talks about growing up poor and how, with the help of a local coach who'd taken an interest in him, he'd been able to start playing hockey. He tells them he wants to give other kids the same chances he'd had; he wants sports to make the difference for other kids the way it did for him.

 

* * *

 

### Five & a Half Years Ago

Jack tucks his thumbs under the edges of Bitty's vest, his palms flat on Bitty's hips. He resists the urge to slide his hands over Bitty’s body. He wants to fit his hand into the small of Bitty's back, let his fingers drift teasingly over the curve of his ass, slip his fingers down into the dip of his slacks. Instead he keeps his hands where they are, lets himself have only the small comfort of Bitty's heat against the tips of his fingers.

They sway just out of time with each other. Jack thinks bitterly that they'd be fine, that they'd move together easily, if he could only feel Bitty. If Bitty could press his hips to Jack's and wrap his arms around Jack's neck. If Jack could let Bitty guide him with his body the same way he does when they are in bed.

Instead, Bitty stands a careful distance away from him, his hands braced on Jack's biceps. He's careful not to look at Jack too long, just catches his eye for a moment, offers him a smile, and then lets his gaze drift away. Unlike Bitty, Jack can't stop staring. This close Jack can see the tension in the skin around his eyes. He can see it in the line of Bitty's shoulders. He squeezes Bitty's hips.

"Everything okay?" Jack asks, careful to keep his voice low.

Bitty's eyes snap to his. "Of course. What makes you ask?"

"You seem tense."

Bitty frowns. He rolls his shoulders, then forces them to relax. "Oh. It's nothing. I just keep thinking..." He trails off, his eyes drifting away again. Jack watches him, lets him get lost for a minute.

Bitty sighs and looks up at Jack. He steps a little closer, slides his hands a little higher up Jack's arms.

"Just... have you ever thought about it?"

Jack frowns at him.

Bitty's eyes flick away, then back. "Thought about... this." He holds Jack's gaze. "Us."

Jack's fingers dig into Bitty's hips, because he has. He's thought about this for as long as he can remember, probably before Bitty ever thought about it. He dips his head in a single nod.

Bitty bites his lip and ducks his head. Jack watches him fight the smile that Jack knows will take over his face and make his eyes shine. Jack grips his hips and wiggles him a bit. Bitty huffs a small laugh and slaps Jack's arm.

"Don't be ridiculous," he chides, but his smile only grows wider. The song changes, but Bitty makes no move to let go of him, so Jack stays where he is.

"You'd have to do the cake," Jack says.

Bitty's eyes go wide. "Of course, Mr. Zimmermann! I wouldn't let just anyone make _my_ wedding cake."

Jack laughs, and Bitty beams at him.

"Small or big?" Jack asks.

"Oh goodness." He purses his lips as he considers. "Maybe both? Maybe we can have a small celebration, just us and our family. Then a larger one with everyone else."

Jack nods. "Small would be nice. You'd have to be careful about Maman. She'll want it to be as big as possible." Jack smiles.

"Mama too. She'd just love to plan my wedding. Maybe the three of us..." Bitty trails off, the smile fading from his face.

Jack feels his own pleasure fade. Jack's parents know about Bitty; they've known about Jack being bisexual since the Q. Bitty's parents know he's dating someone, but not who. They hadn't understood, not really, about Jack not being out, but they trusted Bitty when he said it wasn't a thing they could force.

"Do you really think it'll happen?" Bitty asks.

Jack stops dancing. He stares at Bitty. Bitty flinches. He covers his eyes with a hand and sighs.

"Goodness, listen to me." He pulls away from Jack, which is the last thing Jack wants.

"Bits—"

Bitty waves off Jack's concern, but he still walks away. Jack follows him to a table set back away from the dance floor. It's lit only by the candles sitting on it, little flickering shadows dancing across the table cloth. Not even the soft glow of the lanterns that dangle over the dance floor reach them here.

Jack doesn't know the couple; they’re friends of Bitty's from the station. Jack hadn't met them until today, but they'd hugged Bitty warmly and spent nearly thirty minutes talking to him while Jack watched patiently. The two men had been politely disinterested in Jack's career, which had made Jack feel better about coming with Bitty to the wedding, even if Bitty had to introduce him as a friend.

Bitty sits at the table and wraps his hands around his glass. The ice in it has melted and condensation beads up on the surface of the glass and dampens the tablecloth. Jack sits in the chair next to him, scooting close enough to press his knee into Bitty's.

"I didn't mean that," Bitty says without looking at him. "I know it's not possible right now, and I don't blame you for it, Jack." 

Bitty curls his hand around Jack's knee and squeezes. Jack glances around and then covers Bitty's hand with his own. Bitty turns his over to hold Jack’s.

"We'll have it some day, Bitty," Jack says. He squeezes Bitty's hand. Bitty squeezes back.

They sit there in silence for a little longer, watching the crowds on the dance floor. Eventually Bitty sighs. He squeezes Jack's hand again and then lets go.

"I'm going to say goodbye to Carlos and Anthony."

Jack nods. He watches Bitty cross the room to find the grooms. He smiles brightly at them, hugging them both and laughing with them. He looks happy. Jack watches him and imagines that Bitty's saying goodbye to guests, that these friends of Bitty's are guests at their wedding and not the other way around. He imagines Bitty turning around and smiling at Jack, imagines him crossing the room to take Jack's hand and lead him around the room to say goodbye to their other guests.

It makes his chest ache. The hurt deepens when Bitty turns around. The smile on his face wavers, just for a moment, before he forces it back. He joins Jack by their table, but he doesn't take Jack's hand. He doesn't stand close enough for their arms to brush. He's just a foot away, but Jack feels the distance keenly.

Bitty holds his hand on the drive home. They don't talk. He leans over to kiss Jack's cheek when they get to Bitty's apartment, then slips out of the truck without waiting for more. Jack watches him walk into his building, holding the door open for a couple of young women who walk arm-in-arm. They smile at him and Bitty smiles back, more relaxed than he's been all evening.

Jack swallows thickly as he puts the truck in reverse. He tries not to look back, tries not to watch Bitty's building shrink as he gets further away, but it's difficult when all Jack wants is to turn the truck around and go back. He doesn't though. He grips the steering wheel tightly and crosses the city to his own apartment. He climbs into bed and reads Bitty's good night text. He curls up into a ball and stares at the screen until it goes dark. 

He lies awake until his alarm goes off.

 

* * *

 

### Present

Jack's second meal is to be pork burgers with a side salad made of cucumbers and corn. Jack frowns at the card, reading through the recipe. He shows it to Mark who blows out a frustrated breath.

"This is going to be mostly you," he tells Jack. "Prep isn't much. I can shuck the corn, but you should cut off the kernels. I'll also chip cucumbers and mix the spices you need for the burgers. Do you feel comfortable with that much work?"

Jack reads the recipe again. "I think so," he agrees even though he's never made burgers before. They'd never really grilled growing up, and when he'd eaten with Eric and his family, it had been Eric or his father doing the grilling. But then, he's sure Eric would make offended noises and scowl at him for calling this grilling.

Jack smiles to himself, casting a glance over at Eric where he and Adrián are huddled close together.

When the host releases them to the pantry, Mark keeps Jack close. He tells Jack what to grab and carries it for him, letting Jack pick most of the ingredients, stopping him only when he picks something that isn't in good condition. He doesn't tell Jack which ingredients to grab, but explains how to pick and then lets Jack decide. It's helpful and Jack tries to remember as much as he can. He wonders if Eric ever explained this to him and he’d just forgotten, but all he can remember is pushing the cart, elbows braced on the handle, watching Eric as he peered at labels and chatted a mile a minute.

At their workstation, Jack drizzles oil in a pan and turns on the burner. Jack watches with curiosity as Mark shucks the corn while they wait for it to heat up. He's not as good as Eric, needing extra time to get rid of the strings. Jack can't help glancing over at Eric again, this time catching him laughing at something Adrián has said.

"Jack."

Jack turns back to find Mark frowning at him. He follows Jack's gaze and narrows his eyes when he realizes what Jack had been staring at. He doesn't say anything, just hands Jack the corn cob, but his shoulders are tight and the muscles in his jaw stand out.

Jack cuts the corn kernels off the cob as directed and drops them into the pan to heat while Mark prepares the spices for the burgers. Even though it only takes a few minutes for the corn to be ready, Mark has relaxed by the time it’s done, and Jack moves on to cooking the burgers.

He watches carefully this time and the burgers come out perfectly cooked. He heats the buns and then puts together the burgers, spreading a seasoned mayo across the buns and topping them with goat cheese and some dressed arugula. He adds extra arugula on the plate next to a small bowl of the cucumber-corn salad. Mark has him rearrange the burgers a bit, removing the bun from the top and leaning it up against the burger. Jack fluffs the arugula, feeling silly, his cheeks burning with something like embarrassment, but Mark gives a pleased nod.

Time is called and they are dismissed to the waiting area again.

Mark abandons him immediately, making a bee-line for Eric. Jack sinks down in his seat and thinks about Mark's reaction when he'd caught Jack watching Eric. Mark wraps his hand around Eric's arm. Eric glances down at it, his eyebrows furrowing, but he doesn't look upset, just confused. He listens and then nods and the two of them excuse themselves from Ginella, Olivier, and Adrián. Olivier moves off, but Ginella and Adrián watch with curiosity for a moment before turning to each other and striking up a conversation.

When Adrián notices he's alone, he brings Ginella over and introduces her. Jack shakes her hand and returns her warm smile.

"How are you liking the contest so far?" she asks as she pulls a stool over to sit across the couch from them.

Jack nods, but Adrián groans. "It's so hard."

"You won the first round," Jack reminds him.

Adrián blushes and shrugs. "I just followed directions."

Ginella laughs. "That's the point. We're here to help you." There's an edge to her voice, and Jack looks past her at Olivier where he’s got his back to them, his phone pressed to his ear. Olivier runs a hand through his hair as he talks.

Jack doesn't know much about him, just that he's close to Jack’s age and will probably retire after next season. Jack doesn't ask. Adrián seems to think about it, but Ginella beats him to it, asking how he likes working with Eric. Adrián's face lights up.

"He's so nice! He's really good at making me understand what to do. Jack said he's taught a lot of guys before."

Ginella smiles, her eyebrows rising a bit, but all she says is, "He also hosts teaching classes with me when we're not filming."

"Oh?" Adrián leans forward.

Ginella nods. "I run a non-profit for single parents. We host classes with childcare so they can learn how to cook simple healthy meals. Eric helps teach the classes. He also hosts classes for teens to learn to cook, especially those who are about to live on their own for the first time."

Adrián asks about her charity, and Jack can see in the way his face lights up that he'll probably want to support to it. Jack thinks about Eric in the classroom, teaching mothers and fathers and kids how to cook, how kind and patient he is, how passionate. He wonders how many of them will grow up like Eric, loving to cook and wanting to share it with others. He remembers Eric's relentless support and how he'd never talked down to Jack, just encouraged him to do his best and always had some kind of praise for him.

Across the room, a door opens and Eric enters, his shoulders pulled back, his jaw a sharp line of tension. Jack knows he's angry, his steps too rapid to be casual, his hands in fists. Mark follows after him, scowling. Eric ignores him to grab bottles of water. He comes over to join their group, pulling up a second stool between Ginella and Adrián. Mark stays by the snack table, keeping his back turned on them.

Eric hands out the water. Jack accepts his with a smile. Eric smiles back but it's tight. He's quiet until Amber returns and calls them back into the kitchen.

Olivier is in the bottom again. Ginella doesn't look surprised. She stands with her hands behind her back, a faraway expression on her face as she listens to the judges talk about teamwork and accepting direction. Olivier gives lip service to their words, but Jack can tell Ginella doesn't believe him.

Adrián doesn't do as well this time. The potatoes he'd fixed for his side were unevenly cooked, rendering part of them inedible. Adrián deflates, but Eric comforts him with a touch to his back.

Jack wins. He tells them about his charity for kids with mental health illnesses. He wants to raise awareness of mental health issues and how many kids suffer with anxiety and depression and other illnesses that get ignored or go undiagnosed for years, and how often even those that know of their illnesses cannot get treatment, either due to lack of funds, lack of availability, or the stigma that exists around mental health.

When he stops talking and walks back to his station, Eric catches his eye and beams at him. Jack smiles back, helpless against the pride on his face. Helpless against everything that Eric is.

 

* * *

 

When filming is done, Amber announces that it’s time for lunch. She leads them and the chefs downstairs to a small cafeteria, where food has been prepared for them.

"It follows your meal plans as requested by your nutritionists," she tells them with a grin.

Jack snorts while Adrián groans. Olivier nods, looking pleased. Jack takes his meal and waves off Adrián's offer to sit together.

He needs quiet time, time alone to breathe and re-center himself. Between the judging and talking about his charity, remembering all the ways he’d felt as a kid, Jack needs the time to calm down. He spreads his lunch out and eats slowly, focusing on chewing and swallowing, moderating his breathing between bites. 

It helps, and by the time he's finished his meal, he feels better. He doesn't know if it's chance or if Eric still remembers how to tell, but that's when he approaches. He slides a water bottle across the table to Jack as he sits down. Jack accepts it, twisting off the top and taking a deep drink; his own is already empty.

"So I never would have pegged you for a cooking show," Eric comments. He sets his chin in his hand, bracing his elbow on the table, and stares at Jack with raised eyebrows.

Jack shrugs. "I started a charity a couple years back and this is one way of getting the word out."

Eric smiles, and it makes Jack's heart thump in his chest painfully. He hasn't seen that soft, sweet look in years, hasn't seen the way the skin around Eric's eyes crinkles or heard the way he sighs, just a little bit, in years. Since they broke up. Since before they broke up.

Jack clears his throat and looks away.

"Well, I would wish you luck, Jack, but I've got stakes in this competition."

Jack laughs at that. He looks back to see Eric fiddling with his water bottle. He chews on his bottom lip as he tugs on the corner of the label, peeling it back and then smoothing it down. He takes a deep breath, like he's drawing courage, but then he doesn't say anything.

Jack had wanted silence when he sat over here by himself, but getting that silence from Eric is unnerving. He shifts in his seat and then says, "I have to admit that I was surprised to see you here."

Eric's head shoots up and he stares at Jack, his expression blank. 

Jack frowns slightly and adds, "I'm glad you're here though. It's been a long time."

Eric stares at him for a moment before glancing away. He swallows heavily. When he turns back, his expression is tight, mouth drawn up into a tense smile.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Look, I should get back to Adrián. I'll see you around, okay, Jack?"

Before Jack can respond, Eric stands and strides away. Jack watches him go. He doesn't join Adrián, but instead veers off to leave the cafeteria, his steps speeding up until he’s all but running. The door slams behind him and Jack jumps even though he was expecting it. 

Jack stares at the door for a long time, long enough that Amber calls for them to get ready to go back. Slowly, Jack gathers his trash and makes his way to the trashcans to dump it and drop off the tray. He realizes too late that all his nerves are back.

He thinks, vaguely numb, that it's good that he'd cooked with Eric for so long. He won't have to actually think to do any of this.

 

* * *

 

### Six Years Ago

The apartment is quiet and dark. The lamp he'd left on in the living room is still lit, but it's dim. Jack sits on the couch and digs his phone out of his pocket. There's a text from Bitty: _At the studio._

Jack taps to dial Bitty. His phone rings until his voicemail picks up. 

"Hey, Bits. I'm back." Jack breathes into the phone. He sighs. "I got your text. Um. Call me."

He hesitates, then hangs up. He fumbles for the remote and turns on the TV. He flicks through the channels until he ends up on some kind of documentary. Jack slides down, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. He checks that the volume on his phone is all the way up and turns on the vibrate. He sets his phone on his stomach and waits for Bitty to call.

He wakes up as sunlight burns across his living room and into his eyes. Jack sits up with a groan. His phone slides off his stomach, dropping between his knees to land by his feet. He reaches down for it. When he checks, Bitty hasn't called or texted. Jack sits until his alarm starts ringing. He thumbs it off and gets up to take a shower.

When he gets out, the smell of coffee permeates his apartment. Jack wraps his towel around his waist and heads to the kitchen. Bitty stands at the stove, spatula working at eggs. Jack crosses the room and wraps his arms around Bitty, holding him tightly.

Bitty squeaks, then laughs. He wraps his hand around Jack's arm.

"Hey, honey. Sorry I didn't call last night. We didn't get finished till late and I didn't want to wake you."

"You can call anytime," Jack mutters into Bitty's shoulder.

Bitty twists his head around to kiss the side of Jack's head. "You've been too stressed, Jack. You need all the rest you can get."

Jack doesn't answer, just tightens his hold on Bitty. He stays wrapped around him until the eggs are finished. Bitty puts the pan aside and turns in Jack's arms to hug him back.

"Let's eat, Jack, and then we can spend the day cuddled up on the couch. I don't have to work until late this afternoon."

Jack presses his forehead to Bitty's. They stare at each other, Bitty's eyes soft, his expression gentle. Bitty reaches up to cup Jack's face. He kisses Jack, once, and then steps back.

"And it's not like I'm not enjoying the view, sweetheart, but you might also want to get dressed."

Jack laughs. He leaves Bitty in the kitchen to finish breakfast while he returns to his room to finish getting ready.

They do as Bitty planned and spend the day watching movies. They alternate back and forth between Jack's picks and Bitty's favorites. Bitty tucks his feet under Jack's leg. After lunch, Bitty climbs in his lap and they make out, hands wandering, bodies rocking together. When Bitty comes, his hips grinding down against Jack's, his head thrown back, Jack watches. He watches Bitty's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. He watches the way Bitty's chest heaves. He holds tight to Bitty and he does what he can to remember this moment.

It slips away too soon.

Bitty leaves for work a few hours later. Jack goes on another roadie the day after that. They trade voicemails and leave each other text messages, but it's almost two weeks before Jack and Bitty talk to each other directly.

Bitty's quiet when they finally do. Jack tucks himself into the corner of the couch and listens as Bitty tells him about his coworkers.

"There's a new woman and she's very friendly, but Shitty would just lose his mind talkin' to her. Lord." Bitty huffs a small laugh.

"Maybe we should have him down for a visit," Jack says.

That gets a louder laugh. "Oh, yes. Let's do that. We can have a big dinner. Shitty and my coworkers who are convinced that there's such a thing as boy colors and girl colors and God forbid you mix the two."

Jack laughs. 

Bitty goes silent. He sighs. "Jack... I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"When will I be able to see you again?"

"Soon, Bitty."

"You promise?"

"Yeah," Jack breathes into the phone. "I promise."

Bitty makes a soft noise. "I love you."

"Love you too, Bits."

"Say it again."

"Love you, Bits."

Bitty sighs, the sound wet. "Again."

 

* * *

 

### Present

Jack's third meal, shredded BBQ chicken sandwiches, is more complicated. There's little prep again, leaving most of the work to Jack. Jack is fine with that, grateful that he has to keep moving, keep his focus. It's like being on the ice, pushing back all his worries so he doesn't have to think about Eric and the way he'd all but run away from Jack. So he doesn't have to think about the way Mark followed after Eric when he'd left the cafeteria and how, when they'd come back to the waiting room, Mark had sat with Eric, a hand on his back, pressed low.

Jack follows Mark's directions, shredding his boiled chicken with a knife and fork, boiling potatoes to mix together into a potato salad, and tossing together the coleslaw. He builds the sandwiches as easily as he had the burgers, then lets Mark change things around again, providing an artful touch to the plates that Jack cannot.

Adrián sits with him again on their break and talks about his charity at Jack's prompting. It's easier to listen than to talk, even as he can't stop staring across the room where Eric sits with his shoulders hunched, back to Jack as he talks to Mark and Ginella.

After judging, Jack is surprised he's not in the bottom, not with the way he barely remembers the work he did. Olivier did a better job this time, according to the judges. He'd cooked everything well, but it was underseasoned. Adrián does better than Olivier, but Jack wins because his is technically perfect. Jack acknowledges the judges’ comments with a nod of his head and murmured thanks. He very carefully doesn’t think about the way he’s technically perfect in all the things that don’t actually matter and anything but in all the things that do.

While the points are tallied up, Amber has Olivier talk about his charity even though it will get no money aside from the amount donated as part of his participation. Jack is surprised when he hears Olivier's chosen charity is You Can Play. He talks about his son and how he'd chosen to not go into sports even though he loved them. Olivier glances at Jack when he talks about the players that are out today and how much they've helped the game, but there's still a lot of work to do, still a lot of changes to make. Jack nods along; he's been out for years now and he still finds himself taking checks that are underscored by a low-whispered slur.

There's a short break while the judges and the hosts finalize their decisions. Jack wanders over to Olivier and introduces himself. Up close, he looks tired, but he smiles when he sees Jack.

"I've not been very friendly," he tells Jack.

Jack doesn't know what to say so he only nods.

The corner of Olivier's mouth turns up, almost amused. He shakes his head. "I'd like to go out to dinner with you and Adrián sometime."

"Sure," Jack agrees. He opens his mouth to say more, but Amber calls them to attention. He claps Olivier on the shoulder and moves to stand by his station.

The judges make their comments, lay out the criteria again and how each meal fit or didn't fit it.

It's no surprise, having won two meals, that Jack is named the overall winner. Jack smiles and accepts handshakes from Mark and the judges. Adrián whoops loudly and gives him a hug, slapping him heavily on the back.. Ginella comes over and shakes his hand, telling him she's looks forward to seeing him for the finale. Eric lingers at his station, cleaning up and talking to one of the aids. He only comes over when it becomes clear they're waiting for him. He smiles at Jack, but it's strained, the skin around his eyes tight, the corners of his mouth pale and drawn back.

When he looks up at Jack, his eyes are wet. "Good job, Jack," he says, offering his hand.

Jack stares at it. He looks up at Eric, but there's no warmth, no welcoming. Jack shakes his hand. Eric steps back and then Amber is in front of him, catching him by the arm and talking a mile a minute. She tells him they'll be in touch with his agent about the final episode, but that it will happen soon. That they'll reach out to finalize details about the donation only after the final episode in case he wins more money for his charity. 

Jack looks over his shoulder as she leads him from the room. Eric stands at a workstation, hands braced on the desk, head bowed. Jack wants to stop, to go back and wrap his arms around Eric and tell him it will be okay. He doesn't know what's wrong, but he wants to fix it. He wants to do that again for Eric, be that to him again. He almost does it, almost pulls his arm free of Amber’s grip, but then Jennifer is standing in front of him, talking with Amber.

Jack follows her down to the car. He watches the building disappear in the side mirror, watches Eric get further and further away. He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep the rest of the ride back home.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes three weeks before Jack is called back for the finale. He goes by himself this time, driving to the TV station in his truck instead of having someone drop him off. Jack is the first of the athletes to arrive for the filming of the inter-sport episode, and no one is there to greet him. He heads up to the third floor without waiting and finds the “Pan Contestant” room after a few minutes of wandering the hallway.

He stands around the waiting area, checking out the snacks offered, but it’s not long before he gets bored. He checks his watch only to find there's still twenty minutes before anyone else is expected to show up. Jack glances around and then heads for the kitchen area, curious.

The three stations are in the middle of being prepped. People are in the pantry, loading food into the fridge and on shelves from a cart. Jack watches them before he moves over to see if any of the chefs have arrived— if Eric has arrived.

Ginella is at her station, her head bent down as she talks with a young woman holding a clipboard. Around them, people walk back and forth, comparing lists of items to what's in each station. They bring missing items and take away unneeded items. Jack watches with interest until Ginella looks up and notices him.

She smiles and comes over to give him a quick hug. "You're early," she greets.

Jack shrugs. "Got bored."

She makes a sympathetic noise. Behind her a younger man comes up, looking Jack up and down. He’s smaller than Jack, slender, with his hair buzzed. Ginella shifts to make room for him.

"Jack, this is Rick Carr; he's going to take Mark's place. He had a family emergency."

Rick offers his hand to Jack, and Jack shakes it, relieved that he won’t have to deal with Mark. Over the chefs' shoulders, Jack sees Eric enter the room, talking to Amber and a couple of other people, their heads tucked low together. Ginella glances over her shoulder to see what he's looking at. She offers him a smile.

"They've been like that for a while. I don't know what's got Eric all fussed up."

Jack wonders if it's him. He wonders if it’s the way he’d approached Jack only to pull away and stay away. Jack still hasn’t been able to figure out what he’d said to make Eric run. 

Jack forces his attention away and asks, "Do you know any of the other athletes?"

Rick shakes his head, but Ginella nods. "Well, I know their names: Cami Soria and Ashon Kipchirchir."

Jack frowns, the names unfamiliar to him.

"Cami swims. I can't remember what types of races. Ashon does sprints."

"Oh. Were they good?"

Ginella and Rick exchange looks. Rick grins. "Can't tell you that. Insider info."

Jack laughs and lets them change the subject. Across the room Eric looks over at him. Their eyes meet. Jack raises a hand in greeting. Eric nods and then he turns away, rubbing a hand through his hair. He grips the curve of his shoulder, fingers tensing like the muscle there aches. Jack longs to go over and slip his fingers under Eric’s, longs to work the tension from his body. Instead he stands and watches.

 

* * *

 

Jack is shooed back into the waiting area when the other athletes arrive. Cami and Ashon are both waiting, sitting on the couch together with bottles of water. Jack introduces himself and they wait, discussing their sports and their charities.

Cami is small and compact, but she shakes Jack’s hand with a solid grip, smiling widely. Her skin is tanned, and dark hair frames her face, still damp. She smells like chlorine.

“Sorry,” she apologizes as she sits again. “I was at the pool earlier.”

Ashon stands to shake Jack’s hand as well, introducing himself. He talks like Jack, an accent lurking under the acclimation of being in America for an extended time. Jack wonders where he’s from, but he doesn’t ask. Ashon is more reserved than Cami, smiling tightly at Jack and then letting Cami lead the conversation when the three of them sit.

Jack is content to do the same until a young man pushes into the room, kicking a door stop in place.

"Hi, I'm Tim," he tells them. "I'll be directing you today." He has a clipboard as Amber had and headphones around his neck. He ushers them into the cooking area where the chefs wait for them.

Eric stands with his hands clasped in front of his body, eyes down. When he hears them coming, he raises his chin and forces a smile. As Tim talks, he relaxes, his posture loosening, his smile growing genuine. Jack relaxes too and hopes he can get a chance to talk to him later.

"The basic rules for this episode are still the same," Tim is saying. "The prizes have gone up. Now, for each meal won, $1,000 will be donated. The grand prize for this episode is $6,000 for the charity. Whatever you win this round is added to what you won previously." Tim consults his clipboard. "Jack, you won $4,000. Cami, you won $3,500. Ashon, you also won $3,500.

"The major differences are going to be in the contest itself. Firstly, the producers have decided that the athletes will draw their chefs instead of you choosing your partners." Tim picks up a container that has three wooden handles sticking out from it. "When we start filming, you will take turns drawing a spoon. Your chef's name will be on that spoon.

"Also, today’s episode is not going to the I Yam challenge. We will be going with what we refer to as ‘The Slow Cooker Basket’. Instead of picking a meal, you will received baskets with an assortment of four ingredients. You and your chef must discuss possible meals that can be made from the ingredients and if you can create those meals in the time allotted. As before your chef can only help with prep. Athletes, you must do the cooking yourselves at the direction of your chef.

“You are still responsible for making enough to feed three judges and the host. Scoring is based on how well you work with your chef, how creative your meals are, how well they are presented, and on taste. Final winner is decided by a tally of points.

"Any questions?"

When there are none, Jack, Ashon, and Cami are lined up before the cooking stations, where each chef has moved to stand behind the one assigned to them. They wait while the judges and the host get into place. The host explains the contest to the camera, introduces them all, and then explains what's going to happen next— the athletes drawing the names of their chefs. 

Cami goes first, pulling out a spoon with Rick's name on it.

Jack goes second. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward to pick his spoon. He doesn't know if he's hoping for or dreading the prospect of picking Eric. He hesitates over the spoons before he goes for it, picking the one closest to him. He glances at the host— a short, balding man whose name he cannot remember. He smiles at Jack and then Jack flips his spoon to reveal the _Eric Bittle_ written there.

Jack smiles and nods at the host before he walks over to Eric's station. He stands beside him, looking over. When Eric looks up at him, Jack smiles.

"Hey."

Eric smiles back; it's genuine but strained. "Hi."

"Guess we're cooking together again."

Eric swallows thickly. "Guess so," he says and then turns away to watch as Ashon and Ginella pair off.

Filming winds down for the moment, and they're given breaks while the stations are set to start filming the first meal. Eric excuses himself from Jack before Jack can say anything. Jack watches him go.

 

* * *

 

When they start filming again, it's with a basket on each desk. Jack and Eric stand beside each other, both eyeing the basket with interest. Tim walks back and forth in front of their stations, telling them that they are only to pull the ingredients out as the host— Johnny apparently— calls them out. Their reactions should wait until then so the cameras can catch them. They all nod agreement, and, satisfied, Tim steps back and lets the cameras get into position.

“In today's appetizer basket, we have ramen."

Eric opens the basket and reaches in carefully to pull out a bowl of pre-cooked ramen, topped with slices of ham and eggs. Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust, but Eric only hums in consideration.

"Next is canned apples."

Eric gasps, looking horrified. He pulls the can out and rolls it through his hands. "Who would dare?" he whispers. Jack laughs and gets an elbow to his ribs.

"Okra," Johnny calls out.

"Well," Eric comments as he pulls it out. "At least it's not canned."

"I've never had it before," Jack says.

"You're not missing much." 

Jack grins at him and Eric grins back— at least until Johnny speaks again, calling out the final ingredient.

"And lastly you will find biscuit dough inside your basket."

The smile drops from Eric's face, his eyes going wide. Horror creeps into his expression and he whips around to drag out the can of biscuits. He sputters at it while Jack laughs, his face buried in his hands.

"This is— this is unconscionable! Who— How dare! I have _never_ — stop laughing! Jack Zimmermann, if you don't stop laughing, so help me!"

Jack only stops laughing when Eric lands a solid elbow to his ribs. He groans and reaches out, catching Eric by the shoulders and wrapping an arm around him. He reels Eric in and traps him against his side.

"It's finally happening," he says. He wishes Shitty were here for this moment.

Eric huffs and shoves at him. "Get off me."

"No, no. I need to get a copy of this episode. You're finally gonna use dough that's not made from scratch."

"Oh my _god_." Eric wiggles free of his hold and flattens down his hair. He grins widely at nothing in particular, all tension gone from his body. He rolls his eyes and turns away to fuss at the basket, tucking it under the counter. "You can just quit wasting my time and get over here. We've gotta figure something out for you to cook." Eric pauses at that. A smile spreads across his face. "You're cooking. That means _I'm_ not cooking with fake dough."

Jack starts laughing again.

In the end, they decide to do a ramen slaw topped with crispy okra, the apples, some peppers and cucumbers. They plan for Jack to fry the dough and roll it in honey, adding a sweet component. Jack listens as Eric details his plan and the extra ingredients they will need.

When they are released, Jack runs to grab what they need for the slaw while Eric opens the canned apples and starts chopping them. He also opens the dough and chops it into pieces for Jack to fry and coat.

They move quickly, the time limit shorter this time around. It’s easy as breathing, falling back into rhythm with Eric. They move around each other without hesitation, darting into each other's space and then out again without bumping into each other. It isn't until they stop, time called, their hands in the air, three bowls filled with the slaw, that Jack realizes just how easy it had been.

He looks down at Eric and Eric looks up at him. They smile together. Eric bounces on the balls of his feet and Jack reaches for him, ready to reel Eric in and press a kiss to his lips, an action done so many times, it isn't until his hand has curved around Eric's shoulder that he realizes it isn't allowed.

Jack freezes, his body going stiff, his fingers digging into Eric's shoulder. The smile drops off Eric's face and he jerks away from Jack's hold.

When they are called for judging, Jack and Eric are careful to keep distance between them. Jack stumbles through explaining his meal. His heart pounds in his chest and he hopes his panic is mistaken for nervousness. After he's finished talking, the judges offer their comments. Jack breathes a little easier, but his voice still comes out strangled as he talks about charity and how lucky he feels to be in a position to help others who are struggling as he once had.

Jack stands with his hands fisted behind his back and listens as the other contestants talk about their food. Next to him, Eric shifts, pressing his shoulder into Jack.

"Breath, Jack," Eric says in an undertone. "Do you need me to count?"

"No." Jack focuses on his breathing. Eric stays close, though he moves so they aren't actually touching. Jack closes his mind off, doesn't listen as the others are judged; Eric will listen for him.

When they’re released, Jack excuses himself to the bathroom. He shakes his head at Eric's questioning look. He calms himself down and when he returns, he finds that Eric's saved a seat for him. He smiles, grateful, and accepts the water held out to him. Jack sees Ginella watching them with curiosity, but she says nothing, just offers Jack a smile.

They are called back only a few minutes later, the winner ready to be announced. Jack and Eric win. Jack knows they're expected to hug, but the most he can give is to bump his shoulder into Eric. Eric rolls his eyes and playfully shoves him away.

 

* * *

 

### Six & a Half Years Ago

Jack pushes the grocery cart while Bitty hangs off it, one hand clutching the edge, the other curled around a mug of coffee. They walk side-by-side, not quite touching. Jack hates it. He sulks as Bitty wanders off to browse through the flour selection, his mug tucked carefully into the baby seat on the cart. Bitty grabs a few bags and brings them over. He drops them into the cart, then pauses as he takes in the look on Jack's face.

"What?"

Jack shrugs.

Bitty sighs. He stares at Jack for a moment. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Jack waits, but Bitty only shakes his head and leads him a little further down the aisle.

Jack watches him, taking in the way Bitty runs his fingers over the lines of bottles and bags before he grabs the one he's interested in. He watches Bitty's deft fingers spin cans and boxes. He studies the small furrow of skin between Bitt’s eyebrows as he reads, and the way Bitty's lower lip goes bright red when he chews on it in thought.

They're halfway through their shopping when they turn a corner and someone calls Bitty's name.

"Eric!"

Bitty turns, his face lighting up in recognition. "Andy! Hello!"

Andy steps right up into Bitty's space and wraps him in a hug. He pulls back and glances at Jack, doing a double take when he recognizes him. He gives Bitty a wide-eyed stare, and Bitty laughs.

"Jack and I are old friends," Bitty explains. "I told Jack I'd make him dinner tonight so we could catch up. Jack, Andy and I work together."

Jack nods a brief hello. Andy grins back. He takes a moment to stare before he turns his attention back to Bitty. Jack's fingers tighten around the cart handle. It's not technically a lie; it's been too long since he's had time to spend with Bitty, so they _are_ going to catch up. It just leaves out the fact that they'll cook dinner together, bodies touching, hands sliding along hips and shoulders, stealing kisses from each other. It leaves out the way they'll sit on the couch afterwards, Bitty tucked into the curve of Jack's body as they make out with hot desperate kisses and wandering hands. It leaves out the way, if he's lucky, Bitty will open his legs and let Jack slip in between them. 

It leaves out everything that would stop Andy from stepping into Bitty's space and curving a hopeful hand around his arm. It leaves out the things that would keep Andy from leaning in close and whispering something in Bitty's ear.

Bitty laughs and nimbly steps from his hold. He gives Andy an exasperated look. "If I've told you once," Bitty chides. "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on," Andy laughs. "You need to get out of the house more."

"I get out plenty," Bitty protests.

"But you never date," Andy says. "I'm as good a guy as any."

Bitty rolls his eyes and doesn't respond. Andy's eyes dart to Jack and something sparks in his eyes.

"Jack," he says, and Jack's shoulders stiffen. "Tell Eric he needs to get out a little, play the field."

Jack stares at Andy and wants to tell him the truth, wants to tell him everything. He can't though. He can't because there are guys on his team who toss around slurs like they're meaningless. There are guys on the team who make jokes and make faces and make Jack remember why he's still in the closet.

Jack settles for shrugging. "Eric will do what he wants."

Bitty shoots him a pissy look, mouth pulled tight, eyes promising retribution. To Andy, he says, "That's right. I do. And what I want right now is to finish my grocery shopping and then go home and have dinner. Now git." He makes a shooing motion. Andy laughs, but accepts the dismissal, saying goodbye and leaving them behind.

Bitty's ire dissipates immediately. He turns to Jack, eyes wide and sad.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I had no idea—"

"It's okay," Jack interrupts. It's not, but there's nothing he can do. "Let's go."

Bitty follows behind him, a step too slow. They don't talk the rest of the shopping trip, except to argue over who should pay for the groceries. Jack wins, but Bitty ducks his head and doesn't look at Jack during the ride to Jack's apartment. He doesn't say anything, not until they've brought the groceries inside and put them away. 

Then Bitty turns to him, hands on his hips, face set, shoulders squared.

"We need to talk," he says.

Jack swallows. Bitty shakes his head. He grabs Jack by the wrist and drags him into the living room, forcing him to sit on the couch. He slings his leg over Jack's lap to straddle him and winds his fingers through Jack's hair. Jack wraps his arms around Bitty's waist and holds on. It's the first time in days he's felt solid, the first time in days that the world's stood still.

"Jack." Bitty pauses to look at him. "Jack, I know it's hard right now, but things will get easier. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Jack says.

"Yes, I can. Jack, things get better. They do. I know it can seem like a long, endless tunnel, but there is light there, I promise. And even if it's far away, _I_ will be here with you."

Jack shakes his head. He presses his forehead to Bitty's shoulder. Bitty wraps his arms around Jack and holds him tightly.

"I will always be here for you, Jack, and I will always love you, I promise."

Jack gives a shaky sigh. He holds on tightly to Bitty and tries desperately to believe him.

It doesn't work. It doesn’t work when they finally get up and make dinner. Or when Bitty coaxes him into the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind. Or even when Jack rolls to his stomach and spreads his legs and lets Bitty take him apart one careful thrust at a time.

Afterwards he holds Bitty, listening as Bitty snores softly, his face pressed to Jack's chest.

Jack thinks about Bitty's promise, rolling that promise around, holding it like the precious thing it is, but mostly he thinks about the way they don't live together any more. He thinks about how they couldn't even move together. They hadn't been able to find a reason that made sense, not with Bitty being courted by TV stations and not with Jack’s new team looking at him closely. 

Jack had mentioned it once, offhandedly, to his new coach and the man had stopped and stared at Jack for a long moment before asking why his friend would move with him. Jack had stared back and he had seen the suspicion, the lip curled in preemptive disgust. He had seen the tension in the man's shoulders and how it had disappeared when Jack had shaken his head and said he was only worried about leaving Bitty to fend for himself so suddenly.

Telling Bitty about it later, Bitty's shoulders had sagged as he realized what Jack had already known; Jack couldn't come out, not when he would have no support and no friends and no other options.

Jack had moved without Bitty. He'd found an apartment with two bedrooms and a large kitchen. He'd lived alone in it. He still lived alone in it. 

Bitty had moved six months later, but he'd moved to the other side of the city, in a neighborhood he could afford by himself. He'd accepted no help from Jack, because it would raise too many questions. They saw each other infrequently. Bitty often filmed late, and Jack had his roadies. Jack didn't come home to an apartment that smelled like spiced apples or baked chicken. Bitty didn't come home to Jack watching tape.

They hadn't even maintained what they had, Jack thinks. They were supposed to be moving forward, but all they had done was move backwards.

 

* * *

 

### Present

When it’s time to film them opening the second basket, Jack flips the lid open, revealing the ingredients.

"In your second basket today," Johnny says, "you'll find crab legs."

Jack pulls out the legs. He glances over at Eric to see him nodding in approval. He waves the legs at Eric. "Dex."

Eric barks a laugh. "Oh, hush you— that was lobster."

Jack grins and sets the legs on the table.

"Sweet vermouth."

Jack frowns. He glances at Eric, but Eric only gives him a reassuring smile.

"Also in your basket is asparagus."

Another ingredient Jack is unfamiliar with; he’s never eaten it before let alone cooked with it. He hopes the last ingredient is more familiar to him but at least Eric looks unconcerned. Jack trusts that means he shouldn’t be concerned either.

"And, finally, Mexican wedding cookies."

Jack pulls out the cookies and frowns at them as he rolls them around in his hands. "Have you worked with these before?"

Eric shakes his head. "No, but we've got this. Don't worry."

Eric lays out his plan for a chowder made of crab and sweet potato with a coconut vermouth broth. He explains the steps they’ll need to take, boiling the crab and dicing the sweet potato. Jack worries about the broth, but Eric is reassuring, smiling at him, his hand curved around Jack’s forearm.

When the timer starts, Jack runs to grab the extra ingredients they’ll need while Eric starts working on the crab legs, breaking them apart and cleaning them. Jack comes back to find them waiting for him and he starts a pot of water boiling.

Eric peels and chops sweet potatoes for Jack to cook. He dices the asparagus while Jack gets the crab boiling. Eric watches him then, guiding him through combining everything needed for the broth, telling Jack to add the wedding cookies to it.

“It’ll add texture,” he explains. Jack shrugs and obeys.

Cooking the asparagus is easy for Jack. Eric peeks into pan as he stirs them around and then squeezes his arm. 

Jack grabs bowls for their chowder, spooning out a large serving. Eric guides him in topping it with the asparagus and some garnish. The meal comes together, but Jack frowns as he takes in the others' dishes. His is messy compared to theirs, but when he says so to Eric, he shushes Jack, saying their dish is fine. 

Still, Jack isn't surprised when he loses to Cami, who had let Rick guide her through making pasta.

 

* * *

 

### Seven Years Ago

Bitty's butt naked in their bed and he won't even look at Jack. Jack pouts and hooks his arm around Bitty's waist to pull him back against his chest. Bitty giggles, but he digs his elbow into Jack's ribs and squirms until Jack sighs and leans forward so Bitty can keep working without Jack letting go of him. Bitty adjusts his weight, his hips shifting within the cradle of Jack's thighs. He spreads his legs a little wider to give himself room as he shuffles papers around.

Jack presses his lips to the nape of Bitty's neck and runs his hands over Bitty's chest, fingers tweaking his nipples before slipping down to trace the line of hair from his navel to his crotch. When Bitty's breath hitches, Jack hums thoughtfully. He kisses up Bitty's neck. Delight surges through him when Bitty tips his head to the side. 

"I know you aren't getting it up yet, Mr. Zimmermann," Bitty says, laughter in his voice.

Jack sucks a small mark behind his ear, then whispers, "Is that a challenge?"

"Oh! You!" Bitty laughs, squirming away. "I have to get these figured out!" He wiggles against Jack again, this time out of delight.

Jack hooks his chin over Bitty's shoulder and peers down at the papers. "How many recipes again?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't know if I really have enough for a full cookbook. I've got some flexibility since I'm doing the whole crowd funding thing and can just knock down the cost."

Jack grunts his acknowledgement and watches as Bitty flips through the recipes, ordering and re-ordering them. He drags his notebook over Jack's thigh and makes a note. He sighs and leans back against Jack's chest, head dropping to his shoulder. Jack kisses Bitty's cheek and makes a thoughtful noise, an idea forming in the back of his mind. Bitty shifts to look at Jack.

"What?"

"Just thinking..." Jack trails off. 

Bitty waits, eyes tracing the lines of his face.

"What if you did some informational bits? I mean, right now it's just recipes and you explain a bit about what criteria the meals need to fit the meal plan you're following. But what about some basic how-to's?"

Bitty blinks at him, then shifts to shuffle through his papers to find the introductory chapter. He frowns down at it. "I don't know. I mean, it's a good idea, but that kind of information is available anywhere."

Jack thinks about that for a moment. "Well, yes, but think about your target audience. I mean, when I was in the Q most of the guys microwaved their food." Bitty shudders against him making Jack smile. "The rookies are usually the same. And it doesn't have to be everything, just what they'll need for these recipes."

Bitty makes a soft noise in his throat. He flips through the recipes, then nods. "That could work. Help me make a list."

He goes through the recipes again, slower this time, holding them up for Jack to comment on. Together they make a list of things that could be included. Jack kisses the side of Bitty's neck as he watches Bitty read through the list again, adding stars next to the items he thinks are most relevant. Jack watches him, and when he glances at Bitty's face he notices Bitty's frowning.

"Something wrong?"

"No... not wrong really," Bitty says slowly. He sets the notebook in his lap and stares at it. "I'm not sure how I can do this with just text. I mean, some things are gonna be easy, but other things need visualization. It'll make everything cost more if I hire someone to take photographs for me."

"What about me?"

Bitty looks at him, eyebrows raised.

"I can take the pictures."

Bitty blinks at him, and Jack wonders if he's overstepped. A smile spreads across Bitty's face until he's beaming at Jack.

"Do you mean that?" he asks.

"'Course. Why wouldn't I?"

Bitty shrugs as he stacks his papers together and tucks them inside his notebook. "I wouldn't think you'd want your name on it."

Jack frowns at Bitty. He leans across Jack to shove the notebook on the side table and then spins to sit on his knees between Jack's legs. He drapes his arms over Jack's shoulder, and Jack curls his hands around Bitty's hips.

"Why would it matter?"

Bitty rolls his eyes and doesn't answer. Instead he leans forward, tugging Jack toward him, and kisses him, mouth hot and insistent.

"Think you've had enough recovery time?" Bitty asks against Jack's mouth.

Jack pulls back to narrow his eyes at Bitty. He smirks at Jack until Jack wraps his arms around Bitty's waist and slings him across the bed. Bitty shrieks with laughter, head tossed back, eyes shining. Jack climbs over him and kisses the laughter straight from Bitty's mouth to feel it warm him from the inside out.

 

* * *

 

Bitty ends up not needing to do the crowd funding.

When Jack talks to George about putting his name on Bitty's cookbook, George says he has to run it by the team nutritionist. Jack frowns but takes it home to Bitty. 

Bitty blinks at him dumbly for a minute. "You have to get approval to do this?" he asks. He's frowning slightly, eyebrows furrowed. He's not angry exactly, but Jack can hear the hesitance.

"Not to do it," Jack says. "Just to put my name on it. I can take the photos but you can't say I did it."

Bitty's frown deepens. "Why does the nutritionist need to see it?"

Jack shrugs. He shifts on the couch, then reaches out to pull Bitty's feet into his lap. He digs his thumbs into the the arch of Bitty's foot. Bitty wiggles his toes and sighs softly.

"I think it's because you're saying they’re diet compliant," Jack finally admits.

"Oh." Bitty mulls that over. "And if you put your name on it, it really needs to be." He sighs. "Fine. Set up a meeting or something."

Jack smiles, hands pausing. 

Bitty shoves his foot further into Jack's hold. "Don't stop."

Jack laughs.

 

* * *

 

The nutritionist, a Cuban woman with more degrees than Jack knows what to do with, loves the cookbook. She asks to borrow several of Bitty's recipes, to his delight. Jack mostly just sits quietly and listens to them talk, hands waving as they exchange cooking tips and debate different techniques. By the end of the meeting Teresa and Bitty have plans to get more of the Falconers involved, making it an official Falconers project.

Jack knows that Tater will want to be part of it. Guy and Poots, too, probably. When he tells them that, Bitty beams at him while Teresa jots down their names.

PR gets involved and then the advertising group. They try to get Bitty to agree to a professional photographer, but he refuses. He wants Jack to do it. Jack doesn't want to be in front of the camera at all, so he lets Bitty bully his way into keeping Jack as his photographer.

It's the first time Bitty has been part of his hockey life. The guys love Bitty. They crowd around him and fight for a chance to be in his pictures. Bitty’s patient with all of them, showing them how to do each thing as Jack takes more pictures than he really needs. He knows Bitty will want them.

After working with Teresa, Bitty ends up with enough recipes that almost everyone from the team can be involved. They all pick favorites and Bitty walks them through making them. Each of Jack's teammates gets photographed with his dish. They fight over who gets to be part of the instructional section until Bitty puts his foot down and says the person with the dish in question does. Jack laughs at the way Bitty has never lost his touch with bossing around men bigger than him.

Tater is the first to ask, wrapping his arm around Bitty's shoulder.

"You having a very lucky girlfriend, yes?" he asks.

Bitty blushes and shakes his head.

Snowy leans over, his fork digging into a piece of chicken to sneak a bite. "Why not, man? You're a fucking amazing cook."

"Well, mostly because I'm gay," Bitty says. He’d asked Jack what he should say if it came up. Jack had hesitated, but he didn’t want Bitty to lie, not about that, not about something that had nothing to with Jack at all.

Jack's shoulders tense, waiting for hesitation, for disgust, but no one flinches or shifts away. No one looks at Jack with sudden suspicion. Tater heaves a sigh, heavy and dramatic.

"Why no having boyfriend, then?"

Bitty shakes his head. He forces a smile even as his eyes dart over to Jack. "No time I guess."

Tater scoffs and opens his mouth to say something else, but Bitty claps his hands together.

"Okay, gentlemen, enough stalling. We've got to get through at least two more recipes today!"

A chorus of groans go up, but Jack is only aware of the sudden hope that washes through him.

 

* * *

 

George pulls Jack aside as the release party for the cookbook winds down. She takes him to her office where the sounds of laughter and shouting are only a distant distraction.

"Jack."

He turns to look at her. She studies him for a minute, her face serious. She looks uncomfortable, her shoulders tensed. Finally she gestures to the chairs in front of her desk. She sits in one while Jack sits next to her.

"I wouldn't normally ask this," she starts, "but with this cookbook, things are going to be different for Eric."

Jack nods. "He's hoping so."

"You'll have eyes on both of you, from two different directions," George says. 

She's staring at him again, eyes darting between his. Jack's heart sinks in his chest. He knows what she's going to ask before she asks it.

"Jack. Jack, are you and Eric... more than friends?"

Jack blinks rapidly, his pulse thundering in his ears. He clutches at the arms of his chair and stares at her. George waits, and when he doesn't answer, when he can’t bring himself to say anything at all, she sighs.

"It's okay, Jack. Whatever the situation is, I'll support you. _We'll_ support you."

Jack's exhale shudders out of him, catches in his throat. George's hand twitches toward him, but she pulls it back. He hates being touched when he's on the edge like this and she knows it. She stands, instead, and circles her desk to grab a couple of waters for them. Jack drinks, grateful for the time to gather himself.

"George, I don't—"

George raises her hand to stop him. "I meant it about the support, Jack, but I also meant it when I said I wouldn't normally ask. I just worry that if this goes how Eric has told me he'd like it to go, you may find something out in the news that you don't want."

Jack nods. He rolls the bottle of water between his hands. He takes a deep breath. "I hadn't thought about that," he admits. He'd been too focused on just having the cookbook happen.

George nods. "Whenever you're ready, Jack," she promises. 

Jack takes her at her word, but a year later, when Jack decides he's ready to come out, ready for things to move on and for him and Bitty to stop hiding, two things happen: The Falconers lose their chance to be in the playoffs, and Jack gets traded.

 

* * *

 

### Present

Eric pouts about their loss all the way down to the cafeteria when they are dismissed for lunch. He grumbles as they line up, but as soon as the six of them are seated together, his mood lightens.

"Who's Dex?" Cami asks as they sit down.

Eric's face lights up. "Oh! We went to college with him! He was on our hockey team."

"You played hockey?" Ashon asks. 

Eric flushes as everyone turns to look at him. Jack chuckles at his emphatic "Yes!"

"Eric and I were on the same team," Jack adds. "Played on the same line. Played together,” he amends when he gets questioning looks from Ashon and Cami.

He and Eric exchange smiles before Eric turns away and redirects the conversation. "Anyway, Dex was on the team. He worked on his uncle's lobster boat in the summers. He made some really good lobster dishes."

Jack glances at him. "I didn't know he cooked."

Eric shrugged. "He took over some of the meals during my senior year. Jack had already graduated," Eric explains to the others.

"Do you still keep in touch with him?" Ginella asks.

Eric nods. "Not frequently, but yeah. Um... I actually stay in touch with most of them."

"What about you?" Ashon asks Jack.

Jack shakes his head. "A few. Um... Shitty is my best friend, and Lardo. She was the team manager. Chowder. He went professional, so we play against each other sometimes."

"It breaks his heart every time still," Eric laughs. "Oh, gosh, he was so smitten with Jack in college."

"He wasn't _smitten_ ," Jack objects.

Eric laughs again and continues to tell the others about their teammates. Jack adds a few details, but mostly he just watches Eric.

He hadn't forgotten this, exactly. He remembers sitting at the kitchen table while Eric updated him on what everyone was doing. During Eric's junior year, Jack had been able to easily keep up with everyone, but after Ransom and Holster graduated, Jack had a more difficult time. He wasn’t as close to the others and those relationships had faded over time. 

Lardo hadn't let Jack get away with falling out of touch just as Shitty hadn't. They’d kept him up-to-date on Lardo’s art career and Shitty’s efforts through law school and their on-again-off-again relationship that had eventually just stayed off. They’d both attended Lardo’s wedding to a gallery owner she’d met during one of her shows, a woman who had taken particular interest in Lardo’s work. Shitty had never really settled down, but he had settled into work at a small firm that did as much pro bono work as they did for-profit work.

It was Bitty who had told him how Ransom had gone on to medical school. Holster had stagnated for a while, before finally following Ransom and finding a job in the same city as an actuary for a major insurance company. He'd gone back to school to get his masters and had moved up quickly in the company. Holster had been the one to keep in touch with Eric, passing news of Ransom along, including the news that he and Ransom had gotten together a short while after Holster’s move to be closer to him.

Jack and Chowder still talked, mostly when they had a game against each other. Afterwards they'd go out, the winner paying for the loser's meal. Chowder had only gotten better the longer he played, and it seemed like he was buying most of their meals before too long. 

Jack had never been close to Nursey or Dex, but after Ransom and Holster had graduated, Eric had grown closer to Dex first and then Nursey. He'd fed Jack stories about Nursey, Dex, and Chowder, the three of the inseparable while at Samwell. They hadn't stayed close afterwards, but Jack knew they still talked some, according to Chowder.

Jack remembers this, hearing second hand news. What he'd forgotten, what had faded with time, was Eric's excitement. The way his face lit up with delight when he talked about the good things that had happened, and the way he'd be somber when he talked about bad news. He remembered sitting in the kitchen with Eric, listening to him talk with Chowder on the phone when he and Caitlin had broken up, the distance and Caitlin's own career plans too much for their relationship. Jack had forgotten the kindness that flowed from Eric, the effortless way he gave comfort and devotion to those he loved.

It makes Jack ache to realize how much he'd forgotten, how far away from Eric he'd ended up. The worst part is knowing he has no one to blame but himself.

 

* * *

 

The dessert meal has Eric dancing in place with excitement. Jack watches him as amusement wars in his chest with longing. He remembers coming home to Eric pulling a new recipe out of the oven, listening to him explain all the differences even if to Jack it was nearly the same. Eric has always been beautiful in his passion.

Johnny steps up again, cameras at the ready. "All right, chefs. We are now on our third meal, which will be the dessert. Please open your baskets."

There's a small flurry of movement as they all do so.

"Your first ingredient is cinnamon whisky."

Eric pulls out the glass bottle and holds it up. He makes an approving noise, then laughs. "Oh, Lord, Jack, could you just see us with this at Samwell?"

Jack laughs as he takes the bottle from Eric.

"Next is phyllo dough."

Eric scoffs lightly, but he's smiling. "More dough."

"Also in your baskets you’ll find Brazil nuts."

Eric makes no comment this time, just nods in consideration as he rolls the package around in his hand.

"And finally rose hip jam."

"Oh, I love rose hip jam," Eric says. 

He unscrews the lid and inhales deeply before he shoves the jar in Jack's face. Jack laughs and takes it from him. He sniffs it and nods his approval. Eric rolls his eyes.

"You're such a heathen. Here—"

Eric takes the jar from him and starts outlining his plan. It's a good one and also simple enough for Jack to work with. It shouldn’t worry him, but it does. Jack swallows thickly but nods his agreement. He's not sure if it's occurred to Eric how much it will be like making a pie, how close to a memory it will be. Jack's palms itch with the urge to touch Eric. He's excited, his face lit up with delight, bouncing on the balls of his feet now that they're idle again.

Jack curls his fingers into fists and watches him until they are set free to cook. Eric and Jack stay close together, Eric tossing the things they need into the curve of Jack's arms, stacking them high and expecting him to hold them. Jack does his best, and Eric rewards him with a warm smile when they get back to their workstation. 

Jack focuses on unloading their ingredients and lines them up on the table top.

"Apples first,” Eric directs. “You peel. I'll chop.”

Jack used to be the fastest at peeling between them. Jack nods and gets to work, while Eric organizes their ingredients. He drags the whiskey, butter, and cinnamon to the edge. When Jack hands off the first of the apples, Eric asks if he remembers how to brown butter. Jack does, and then he's off, melting the butter and letting it brown before cooking the apples. He follows Eric's directions with ease. Baking pies together was something they'd done even before they'd gotten together.

Eric helps him mix ground Brazil nuts with ricotta and the rose hip jam. They spread out the phyllo dough and then layer each ingredient. Eric shows him how to pinch together the little pockets they're making.

"They're called beggar's purses, Jack," Eric giggles.

"What? Would a beggar even have a purse?" Jack asks. 

Eric giggles again, rolling his eyes and bumping Jack's arm with his shoulder. "God, you still tell old man jokes."

Jack scoffs. "My jokes are classics."

Eric laughs, head tossed back, face bright. Jack watches, helpless, until Eric shoves at him, still chuckling softly. 

"Get movin', Jack. Those still need to be cooked."

Jack fumbles the second beggar's purse, but the third and fourth turn out well enough. He gets them into the oven then makes the whipped cream. He doesn't need instruction from Eric for this; it had always been his responsibility and he remembers without thinking what needs to be done. 

While he works on the whipped cream, Eric mixes chocolate sauce and rose hip jam. He has Jack sloppily streak the plates before dropping a spoonful of whipped cream on each one. 

Eric orders him to pull out the beggar's purses. They're golden brown, crisped up perfectly, and Eric makes cooing noises at them.

Jack gets the last beggar's purse in place on the plate just as time is called. Jack steps back, and he and Eric smile at each other.

They're dismissed while the judges try the food and score it. Jack and Eric sit next to each other on the couch, close enough their arms brush. Eric sinks low, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. He looks up at Jack and it feels like no time has passed. Jack stares back as long as he can get away with.

When he judges call them back to talk about their meal, Eric stands close again and chews nervously on his lip. Jack curls his hands into fists. Cami's meal is good, the judges say, but she'd not used all her ingredients, forgetting the nuts. Ashon and Jack are close. He and Jack exchange looks around Cami and Rick where they stand between them.

In the end, Ashon wins. Eric deflates next to him and Jack reaches out to curl his fingers over Eric's shoulder in comfort. He thinks about the days when he would have pulled Eric into a hug and teased away his disappointment. Now he can only squeeze Eric's shoulder in commiseration. Eric offers him a slight smile, just the corner of his mouth tipped up. It’s not enough, but it’s all Jack is allowed.

 

* * *

 

### Eight Years Ago

Jack can hear the music before he even reaches the apartment. He pauses outside the door and stands there, listening, smiling at the painted wood. He slips his key into the lock and pushes it open. The muffled music shifts into clear, bright sound, pouring through the door into the hallway where Jack stands. He wonders how long Bitty's been playing it this loud. His neighbors must hate him already, but even if they do, Jack knows Bitty will bring them pie and charm them into forgiveness.

Jack steps into the apartment, setting his bag down on the ground and toeing off his shoes. He shuts the door and drops his keys into the little ceramic bowl Bitty had set there solely for that purpose. His keys are already in it, and Jack stares at them for a moment, absurdly pleased at such a small thing.

He makes his way to the kitchen and stands in the doorway to watch Bitty, even though it's a scene he's witnessed many times. Bitty bounces around the kitchen, hips rocking to his music, hands flying as he chops ingredients and tosses them into a pan. Bitty pauses to roll his hips, raising his hands above his head. Jack grins as he watches; he knows too well how wonderfully delicious it feels to have those hips rolling against his. He shivers at the thought.

Bitty turns and shrieks, startling when he spots Jack, his hand flying to his chest. He glares as Jack laughs and then darts over to pause his music.

"You scared the crap out of me," Bitty complains even as he comes over to wrap his arms around Jack's neck.

Jack hugs him close, tucking his face into Bitty's shoulder. "Sorry," he mutters and presses a kiss to the skin there.

Bitty squeezes him then pushes him away. He wags a finger in Jack's face. "You most certainly are not. But I'm warning you now, Jack Zimmermann, I will not tolerate such behavior." He stops then, grinning widely.

Jack laughs and leans forward to kiss him. Bitty reaches up to cup his face, opening his mouth to Jack when he slips his tongue against Bitty's lips. He doesn't let Jack kiss him for too long though, stepping away with one last chaste kiss.

"No distracting the chef," he chides. He crosses the kitchen to stir their food. Jack moves to stand beside him, watching as Bitty adds salt, pepper, and a small collection of herbs into the pan where a mixture of vegetables cooks.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Mm!" Bitty turns and points to a small stack of plates and silverware. "Set the table please?"

Jack kisses the side of his head and leaves Bitty in the kitchen cooking. In the dining room Jack finds that Bitty has decorated the table. It's covered with a tablecloth that shimmers silver in the light. A stretch of yellow fabric runs the length of the table, dotted with red rose petals. Two small vases sit in the center, filled with a mix of roses: red, yellow, and white. Jack sets the stack of dishes on the edge of the table. Bitty has set two place mats down across the table from each other. Jack reaches over to grab the one on the other side and sets it next to the other so that he and Bitty will be seated side-by-side. He busies himself with setting the plates and silverware in place, taking the time to Google place settings so he can get it correct.

"Jack!"

He hastily lines up the silverware and heads back to the kitchen. Bitty is pouring the last of their food into a serving dish, scraping the remaining bits from the edges of the pan. He doesn't look away as he says, "Help me carry these to the table. I'll grab serving spoons."

Jack picks up the tray next to where Bitty's working and carries it into the dining room. He shifts the bowls over, setting them down between the two vases after carefully brushing the petals aside. Bitty comes up behind him and sets his own tray down. He pauses, taking in the changes Jack has made. He stares for a moment at their new seating arrangement, eyes wandering over Jack’s careful work, then looks up at Jack, a smile splitting his face. He abandons his tray to come over and pull Jack down into an open-mouthed kiss.

"No one will believe that you're the sap out of the two of us," Bitty says against his lips.

Jack laughs.

Dinner is perfect. Everything fits within Jack's meal plan and tastes wonderful. Bitty scoots his chair closer to Jack's and their arms brush against each other the entire time. Their conversation is quiet and easy. Bitty tells Jack about his latest vlog post and the comments it's gotten. Jack tells Bitty about practice. Their conversation wanders, and they slip from subject to subject. Jack wraps his fingers over the curve of Bitty's knee, and Bitty leans up to press his mouth to Jack's. He tastes like spices.

Afterwards Jack helps Bitty clean up, carrying bowls and plates to the kitchen while Bitty starts washing dishes. He hums under his breath, a soft, sweet sound. Jack comes up behind him to wrap his arms around Bitty's waist and press his lips to Bitty's shoulder. They sway together, Jack closing his eyes.

"Tell you what, hon. Let me just rinse these while you put the food away and then we can go to bed. What do you say?"

Jack nods against his shoulder.

In the bedroom, they kiss and touch and slowly pull each other's clothes off. Jack crawls into bed and pulls Bitty into his lap.

"You wanna—" Bitty starts, but Jack shakes his head.

"Let me take care of you tonight."

Bitty sighs and relaxes into Jack's body. He lets Jack stroke and pet him, lets Jack tip him onto his back and slide down his body to take Bitty into his mouth while he works his fingers inside Bitty's body. When Bitty's shivering with pleasure, unable to control the sweet noises that escape his throat, Jack crawls back up to bracket Bitty with his body. He slides into Bitty, covering Bitty's mouth to swallow his gasp. Bitty wraps his legs around Jack's body and his arms around Jack's neck and he holds on tightly while Jack makes love to him.

He comes like that, Jack pushing into his body slow and hard, a hand wrapped around his cock. It doesn't take long for Jack to follow him, Bitty whispering words of encouragement into Jack's ear as he runs his hands through Jack's hair.

When Jack slips out of Bitty, he doesn't go far, just curls himself around Bitty to hold him tightly. Bitty tucks his feet in between Jack's shins and slots his fingers through Jack's where they lie over his stomach. Bitty sighs, sleepy and content. Jack presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you for dinner," Jack whispers to him.

Bitty huffs a small laugh and squeezes Jack's hand.

"I'm glad you're here," he adds.

Bitty rolls over to face him. He strokes Jack's cheek. "Of course I am."

"No. I mean. I'm glad you're here. To stay."

The worry slips from Bitty's face, giving way to a soft smile. He shifts closer to Jack and kisses him. "I'm glad I'm here too." Bitty laughs suddenly. Jack's heart flutters at the delighted sound of it. "You know, I haven't even brought all my stuff over. I made Dex stick some of it in the attic."

"Bits."

Bitty shrugs and tucks himself against Jack. "We can go get it tomorrow. I just wanted to be here. I'm so ready to live with you, Jack, you don't even know."

Jack slides his hands up the curve of Bitty's spine. He wants to tell Bitty that he does know. He knows because it's all he's been able to think about these last few weeks, Bitty moving in with him, Bitty being here _every day_. His heart pounds in his chest to think of it, to think of the way that he gets to have every piece of Bitty now. He gets to have him all.

 

* * *

 

### Present

Each of them have won a meal, which means the points are close. Jack stands with Cami and Ashon, all of them waiting nervously. Their chefs stand behind them, listening as the judges recap their meals, thank them all for being there and for supporting their charities. They all nod, but they just want to know.

Johnny takes pity on them.

"Our winner today is... Jack!"

Eric throws his arms around Jack, dragging him down into a hug before Jack has a chance to register what's been said. Jack wraps his arms around Eric's waist and holds tightly.

"Congratulations," Eric whispers in his ear, small and private. Jack squeezes him and then steps back to accept the congratulations of the other chefs and athletes. Rick also hugs him, pulling back with a pat to his shoulder. Cami and Ashon shake his hand.

"Way to go, man," Ashon says. 

Jack grins. "Thanks."

The judges come around the table with Johnny, and they spend a few minutes with Jack and the others before they leave. Tim shows up to lead them out of the kitchen and into the waiting room, where he explains to them what's going to happen now. Jack will have to come back another day to do some promo shots, but for today, they're free to go. Cami and Ashon congratulate Jack one last time before they leave. Tim promises Jack he'll be in touch through Jack's agent and then disappears back in the kitchen. Jack runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He's tired. He wants to see Eric one last time, but he doesn't even know where—

A soft noises catches Jack's attention and he looks up to find Eric leaning against the snack table, fingers curled over the edge of it, clutching it tightly. He stares at Jack, his face unreadable.

Jack shuffles awkwardly in the middle of the room. He draws a deep breath and steps closer to Eric. He wants to reach out and touch him. He thinks about just doing it, but he doesn't know if it would be welcome.

"It was really great cooking with you again, Jack," Eric says, breaking the silence.

Jack ducks his head, feeling his face heat. "I enjoyed it too."

Eric nods and they lapse into silence again. Jack waits, but when Eric says nothing, Jack forces himself to.

"Listen. Eric. I— I was—" Jack swallows. He twists his hands nervously. Eric's eyes drop to track the movement and Jack shoves them in his pockets. "Can we exchange numbers?" Jack asks, getting it all out in a rush.

Eric looks up at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Numbers?"

Jack feels his shoulders relax. "Yeah." He steps closer. "Yeah. It was really great." He winces when he realizes he's repeating Eric's words. "I want to talk again."

"To... talk."

Eric's eyes slip away from Jack’s face, wandering the room. Emotions dart across his face too fast for Jack to track, let alone understand. Eric draws in a deep breath and pushes himself off the table. He holds himself rigid and when he finally looks back at Jack, all the openness that Jack had earned today is gone.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Eric says.

Jack blinks. He opens his mouth. Closes it again.

"I— I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack stares at him for a long moment, then turns and leaves. The elevator takes forever to arrive, time dragging slowly. Jack watches the numbers above the doors flick from one to the other. When the doors finally open, he steps through and jabs the button marked "1". As the doors slip closed, Jack hears someone call his name, but he ignores it. He presses his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

He thinks bitterly that this is what he gets. He'd told himself it wouldn't be forever in the beginning. He'd loved Eric, wanted to have a life with him, and Eric had wanted the same. But time had slipped by and nothing had changed, not even Jack himself. They'd had a choice and they'd made it. 

Jack can't blame Eric for moving on, for not wanting to backtrack. He was out. He is out. Jack knows he's dated; it was why Jack had stopped following his career in the first place, unable to stand the sight of Eric arm-in-arm with another man at his publicity events. Unable to tolerate the thought that one day, he’d be seeing pictures of Eric at a wedding— at _his_ wedding, and that Jack would not be his groom.

Jack sucks in a deep breath. Holds it. Blows it out.

He thinks back to the way Mark had pressed his hand to the small of Eric's back, the way he'd followed after Eric to check on him. Jack rubs a hand across his face, suddenly aware of how much he has assumed, being around Eric again, seeing the way he’d smiled at Jack.

The elevator dings. Jack opens his eyes as the doors slide open. He digs his keys from his pocket and exits the building out into the parking lot. The sky is dark, blue rapidly giving way to black, only the brightest stars visible against the lights of the city. Jack stands on the sidewalk for a moment. Despite the late hour, the lot is still mostly full. He sighs and heads for his car where it sits somewhere in the back.

"Jack!"

Jack stops, cocking his head. 

"Jack!"

He turns to see Eric running across the parking lot toward him.

 

* * *

 

### Ten Years Ago

Jack's heart pounds in his ears. It's beating so fast and desperate he almost thinks he's having a panic attack. Panic attacks were never like this, though. They never filled him with light and hope and excitement. They always made him feel frozen and forgotten, never made him feel as if he couldn't move fast enough.

Jack doesn't get the front door of the Haus open before he slams into it, his hand already around the doorknob, twisting it open. He stumbles over his own feet, then catches himself. He runs up the stairs, his balance still off. Bitty's room is empty and for one moment, everything freezes. His fingers tighten around the door jam, his body trembles. He's already turning when he hears the small gasp followed by a whispered _Lord_.

Jack's heart starts beating again.

Bitty stares up at him, eyes wide and shining and wet. He's so perfect it makes Jack ache. He's so perfect it makes Jack forget he's a coward, just for this one moment, just long enough that Jack can lean down and kiss him.

Bitty inhales, sudden and sharp, but then he's kissing back, his hands pressing into Jack's shoulders, his body curving beneath the press of Jack's hands.

Jack only pulls away when his phone doesn't stop buzzing. He knows without looking that it's George and his mother. He knows he should already be sitting in the car beside his father, listening as his mother and George talk about Samwell and Jack and all the things that come after this. 

He doesn't want to go.

He lingers, his hands in Bitty's. Bitty stares up at him. His eyes are glazed over with shock, but Jack can see that silent sadness slipping away as Bitty slowly realizes what happened. Jack squeezes his hands, ready to let go, but Bitty frowns, the corner of his mouth turning down, his forehead furrowing. Bitty squeezes back and he doesn't let go. Jack is helpless to do anything but hold on and lean forward, just one more time.

Bitty meets him halfway.

"I'll text you," Jack promises as he steps away. Bitty nods, his phone held up as if he's already waiting. 

Jack runs down the stairs, his phone buzzing in his pocket with more messages. He stops on the sidewalk in front of the Haus to check them. He fires one off to George and then to his mother, promises he's coming. He'll be there soon. He turns around to stare at the closed front door. He looks up at his bedroom window— his old bedroom window— but he can't see anything. He knows Bitty's still there, he must be. Jack wants to go back in; he doesn't want to leave.

His phone buzzes again. Jack looks at it to see his mother is urging him to hurry; they're going to be late.

Jack taps on the message to respond, but stops. His thumb hovers over the screen. He shifts it up and taps the back button to bring up the list of recent contacts. Bitty is third from the top, displaced only by his mother and George. Jack should have known. He taps Bitty's name and types out a message. He deletes it, tries another one.

Jack looks up at the window again. Thinks about having to walk away. He looks at his phone again.

_I miss you already_ he types and then sends. He doesn't bother worrying if it's too much or too soon. It's only the truth.

 

* * *

 

### Present

"Jack! Jack, wait!" Eric calls after him when Jack turns back around and starts walking again. Jack doesn't slow down, but he doesn't speed up either. He hears Eric's footsteps pound against the pavement as he hurries to catch up. Jack thinks he should stop, but he also thinks they already have.

"Jack—" The footsteps fade. "It never got easier!" Eric shouts at his back.

Jack jerks to a stop. He turns around to see Eric standing in the middle of the lane, arms folded over his chest. His shoulders hunch as Jack looks at him.

"What?"

Eric's eyes roll up and his expression crumples. He covers his face with his hands. His shoulders heave. Jack moves closer to him.

"Eric?"

"I said, it never got easier." Eric drops his hands and glares. He purses his lips together even as he rubs the heel of a hand across his cheeks. "We said we'd talk again when it got easier. To be around each other."

Eric says it like he doesn't expect Jack to remember, but he does. He remembers the hopeful look on Eric's face and the way he'd felt his own expression shut down. He'd agreed but he'd seen the way the hope had died in Eric's eyes. He hadn't been able to let it go like that, so he'd reached out and squeezed Eric's shoulder and promised.

"I kept waiting," Eric says. "I kept thinking that I'd be able to be friends with you one day, but every time I tried, it just... I couldn't do it."

There was so much they couldn't do back then.

"And then you showed up here, and I thought. I mean, I've been on the show a year." He laughs, the sound wet and pained. "I thought you _knew_. I thought you were here for me." Eric's voice breaks and he looks away, jaw trembling until he clenches it. He takes a deep breath and looks back at Jack, chin raised in defiance. He's so beautiful it makes Jack's chest hurt.

"You didn't even know I would be here," Eric continues, "and I realized it meant you'd stopped— maybe hadn't ever kept track of me." He looks away again. Jack steps forward, reaching out for him without thinking, but Eric doesn't look back.

"I just— I know what it's like to be loved by you, Jack. I know what that means and how it feels, and it's not that your friendship isn't— isn't enough, because it is." Eric closes his eyes. "I just can't pretend I don't know how much more there is. I can't pretend that I don't still want that."

Jack's heart pounds heavily in his chest. Words crawl up his throat and clog there.

"So, I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings and that I can't— I can't put it aside even though it's been so long, but—"

"Me either," Jack finally interrupts, his voice ragged and too loud in the quiet.

Eric's head snaps up, his eyes going wide. "What?"

"I haven't either." Jack steps closer. His hand rises and then falls. Eric's eyes dart down to look at it then back up to his face.

"You haven't what either?" Eric asks.

"Put it aside."

Eric steps closer, waiting.

"I stopped following you because— because I couldn't watch you move on. And— when— when you didn't say anything after I came out— I thought that was it, Bitty. I thought—"

Eric closes the distance between them. He wraps his arms around Jack, lifting himself up on his toes to wind them around his neck, pulling him down to press his face into Jack's neck. He shakes his head, his hair brushing along Jack's jaw and cheek.

"No. Jack. I didn't say anything because I was _afraid_."

Jack sighs and hugs Eric back.

"I've missed you so damn much, Jack. I ache with it sometimes."

"Yeah," Jack breathes. "Me too."

They hold each other for a while, Eric's face in his neck, Jack's nose pressed into his hair. It's only when Eric loosens his hold that Jack releases him. Eric slips back flat on his feet. His hands trail down Jack's arms, coming to rest in the bends of his elbows. He looks up at Jack, his wide eyes nearly black in the darkness.

Jack stares at him for a long time, eyes taking in all the small differences, the lines that are beginning to form at the corners of his eyes and the edges of his mouth, the extra weight that sits on him. Eric stares back, studies him just the same. Jack wonders what he sees.

Eric's face crumples slightly, a deep sadness making itself known. Jack sighs out his own sadness.

"Bitty," he says, and he leans down.

Eric tips his head up, meets him partway, his hands slipping up to Jack's shoulders again. He twists the fabric of Jack's shirt between his fingers, holding on. Jack pulls back. Eric keeps his eyes closed, curls his lips in even as he smiles. His cheeks are flushed pink. Jack leans down again, hands sliding up to cup Eric's face.

Eric's phone buzzes. Eric pulls away. "That's my phone." It buzzes again and Eric fumbles it from his pocket. He frowns down at it, then looks up at Jack.

"I have to go."

Jack nods. "Okay." He leans in to kiss him again. Eric ignores his phone until it starts to ring. He pulls back and silences it.

"Sorry. I still have work."

Jack pulls the phone from Eric's hands and opens the contacts. He sends himself a text message then gives Eric his phone back. "Will you call me?"

Eric smiles as he cradles his phone to his chest. "Every day," he promises. 

He leans up to press a kiss to Jack's mouth, quick and easy, like they'd never been apart, and then he's gone, disappearing in and out of the street lights dotting the parking lot. 

Jack's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees he's got two unread messages from the same phone number.

The first says _Bitty_.

The second says _I can’t wait to stop missing you._

**Author's Note:**

> **Athletes:**
> 
>   * Adrián Cruz: [Alec Martinez](https://www.nhl.com/player/alec-martinez-8474166) of the Kings [[Kids in Sports LA](http://www.kidsinsportsla.org/)]
>   * Olivier Cote: [Stephane Robidas](https://www.nhl.com/player/stephane-robidas-8462196) of the Maple Leafs
>   * Cami Soria: swimmer [Maya DiRado](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maya_DiRado)
>   * Ashon Kipchirchir: runner [Shadrack Kipchirchir](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadrack_Kipchirchir)
>   * Ginella Simms: chef [Carla Hall](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carla_Hall) (one of my favorite contestants from Top Chef!)
>   * Mark Carey: chef [Kevin Gillespie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kevin_Gillespie_\(chef\))
>   * Rick Carr: chef [Carl Dooley](http://www.bravotv.com/people/carl-dooley)
> 

> 
> **Meals:**
> 
>   * [Seared Chicken with Mustard Apple & Potato](https://www.blueapron.com/recipes/seared-chicken-with-sauteed-purple-potatoes-kale-apple)
>   * [Spice Pork Burgers with cucumber-corn salad](https://www.blueapron.com/recipes/spiced-pork-burgers-with-goat-cheese-cucumber-corn-salad)
>   * [Shredded BBQ Chicken Sandwiches w/ coleslaw](https://www.blueapron.com/recipes/shredded-bbq-chicken-sandwiches-with-creamy-potato-salad-coleslaw)
>   * Chopped: Offal Surprise (01x09)
>   * Chopped: Break a Crab Leg (16x09)
>   * Chopped: There will be Bloody Marys (19x12)
> 



End file.
